Ones We Choose
by Stephensmat
Summary: Watson needed advice, and he would be damned if he asked Sherlock. And he couldn't go to Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade, or anyone else without getting Mary thrown in Jail... and he wasn't entirely sure if he had a problem with that. So he'd asked Molly to join him for coffee. Spoilers up to the end of Season 3.


It was a week until Christmas, and Sherlock had made it clear that John needed to make a decision by the time they arrived at his parents house. John hated being forced to do anything involving Mary. So far he'd been unable to make so much as small talk with his own wife. But he knew Sherlock was right. (Again) He'd been dragging his heels on the subject of Mary Watson. Or whatever her name was.

Watson needed advice, and he would be damned if he asked Sherlock. And he couldn't go to Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade, or anyone else without getting Mary thrown in Jail... and he wasn't entirely sure if he had a problem with that.

So he'd asked Molly to join him for coffee.

"Hello." She beamed, always cheerful. "Happy holidays." They ordered their hot drinks and found a spot near the window, away from other people. Molly took a sip and sat, almost at attention. "So. New case?"

"This isn't about work." Watson shook his head. "I need some advice."

"From me?" Molly was oddly delighted.

"Yes, and if you had any sense, you'd slap me the second I ask the question." John said plainly. "Though, maybe not as hard as you slapped Sherlock. Or as often."

Molly twitched. "He still clean?"

Watson nodded. "Wouldn't even take morphine in the hospital until he passed out."

"Good." Molly gave him a tight smile. "Ask me."

"Is... Do you think we..." John asked. "Do you think it's possible that people get drawn to sociopaths because that's what they want?"

Molly took the question with a disturbing degree of earnestness. "I don't know. I've been trying to answer that question ever since I found out Jim Morris was actually..."

Watson nodded, conceding the point. "That's why I came to you. You're probably the only one I can ask about this."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mary never had a problem with Sherlock, and... She said something the other week that sort of stuck. And Sherlock agrees, that it was part of a pattern."

"What did she say?"

John was tempted to be honest with her, but waved the question off. He didn't know what to do about Mary, and until he did, he wouldn't bring other people in on it.

Without the details, Molly wasn't sure what to say. "Did Sherlock say what your 'pattern' was?"

"Hanging around sociopaths." Watson snorted the second he said it. "It sounds ridiculous, but... It's really the only way to say it. When I met Sherlock Holmes, I was limping around on a leg that wasn't really wounded because I couldn't get my head out of the warzone, even after weeks back in London. My first case with him, and suddenly I was back to normal again; and I'm wondering if I just traded one kind of mental error for another one. I wasn't looking for a job, or a thrill. I was looking for an apartment."

"Can I ask, were you trained as a Doctor in the Army, or did you volunteer after your medical training?"

"No, I was a doctor already. I volunteered after 9/11."

"You were a doctor. Your job was to make things better, and then you were a soldier. You volunteered for duty in a place where things never got better." Molly pointed out. "And you were good at it. And then you came back. You made the transition back to civilian life."

"Yeah, except I didn't." John admitted. "I was falling apart after Afghanistan. Then I met Sherlock, and suddenly it was all crime scenes and serial killers and 'better-bring-your-gun' and 'The-Game-Is-On'." He sighed. "I met Mycroft the day before I moved my things into Baker Street. He did that Holmes-Vision thing they do and basically told me that I wasn't haunted by the war. He told me I needed it."

Molly nodded. "Some people do. It's an adrenaline rush, and adrenaline is like any other drug."

"So was living with Sherlock Holmes." Watson admitted. "An Adrenaline rush, I mean." He leaned forward a bit. "I never told anyone this, Molly... but whenever we went too long between cases, Sherlock would go into nicotine fits... and I'd start having the nightmares again."

"Nightmares?"

"About Afghanistan." Watson clarified. "Any time we went too long between cases, I'd start waking up with my heart racing and my sheets soaked with sweat." He hesitated. "That day when I went charging alone into a Drug Den and found Sherlock? I was having the nightmares again."

"And you're worried that you're having nightmares as a sign of withdrawal? Like your brain is providing the adrenaline rush that your real life lacked?" Molly guessed.

"Am I crazy to think that?"

"I don't know." Molly sipped her coffee. "I'm the wrong girl to ask. I've been Sherlocked a lot longer than you have."

John toasted that in commiseration. "I'm sorry that your engagement fizzled out."

"The moment I broke up with him, I looked up and realized that he looks like Sherlock's bloody stunt double." Molly looked sick. "How did I not notice that? You noticed it. So did Lestrade, so did Anderson and Mrs Hudson, and no doubt the Great Detective too. I even bought him a scarf and jacket..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "All the way up to the wedding, I could barely keep my hands off him; but the second Sherlock dared him to deduce something, it was like having a bucket of icewater thrown in my face." She hid behind her coffee cup. "He wasn't a boyfriend, he was the last missing piece in my stupid Sherlock-ian Sex Fantasy."

"I wouldn't go that far." Watson offered politely.

Molly was covering her face with her hands. "I made him wear the hat."

Watson winced. "I didn't need to hear that." He cleared his throat grimly. "For what it's worth, you wouldn't be the first one to confuse fantasy with reality."

"I feel like such a blind idiot."

Watson toasted with his coffee cup, thinking of Mary. "Yeah, I'm having that feeling too."

Molly returned the toast and sipped. "I looked it up once. Sociopaths are usually very charming, very smart, very... exciting. They can make the world move." Molly shrugged. "In your life, how many people can do that? Most of us go through life waiting for something to happen. People like Sherlock make things happen all the time, or they go completely off the rails."

"That they do." Watson admitted. "Do we choose them, Molly?"

"Choose them?"

"Do we have sociopaths in our lives because we want to?"

"You mean, do we have a type?" Molly asked with a barely restrained smirk.

Watson laughed sickly. "You can see why I had to talk to you."

"No, I don't." Molly admitted. "I really don't. You did the suburban life thing, and you seemed to pull it off. You had four girlfriends or more back before Sherlock played possum for two years. Not a one of them could handle it. I never told you this, John... But Lestrade and I had a bet on how long it would be before Mary made you choose, once he came back. Some of the Yard got into it and... The bet got to be in the triple digits by the time the wedding rolled around."

"And?" John couldn't help but ask.

"Why do you think the Yard put up a collective Wedding Gift? None of us expected you to make it to the vows; so we had to do something with the big pile of money. We could either put off all the bets, or pool it for a really nice gift." She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a romantic."

"You really thought she was going to ditch me."

"It's not that unusual a problem. Greg's married to the Job, and that made his wife the 'other woman' in his world. He's divorced. More than two thirds the people in Scotland Yard are divorced. Most people have a problem with it. My first week working forensics, I had to autopsy a few slasher victims. The youngest was twelve years old. You talk to the guys in other departments... Guys who handle human trafficking and child exploitation. As part of the job, you have to spend time around that sort of thing. It does stuff to your head. Bad stuff. How can you leave it behind when you go home to a family of regular people? I'm an ME. Most of the guys I bring home can't handle the kind of photos and medical journals I have laying around my apartment. I wanted to puke my first week, and now I study autopsy photos while I eat dinner. They never want to ask about my day, because it makes them turn green to hear about it." She sipped her drink. "Normal People can't handle this kind of life. Everyone at the Yard decided long ago to make this their career; and the people who couldn't hack it walk away."

"And you figure Mary could hack it?"

"If she can handle Sherlock, she can handle you working with Sherlock." Molly toasted. "Sherlock keeps body parts next to his snacks. He's a living Special Crimes Unit, only taken up about twelve notches."

"Molly, those four girlfriends who couldn't handle it? They were nice. They were sweet. None of them were unkind, or unfair, or overly judgmental of others."

Molly nodded. "The word you are trying not to say is 'normal'. They were normal."

"So if Mary can handle it, shouldn't that be... concerning?" Watson was trying to ask the question without telling her anything, and it was getting difficult.

Molly shrugged. "You tell me. You married her."

John didn't have an answer to that.

"I mean, let's face it John; you hit the jackpot." Molly was nothing but genuine. "You managed to land a woman who wants to make a home with you, _and_ likes Sherlock Holmes? It was the best you could ever hope for. It made your life come full circle. Your work wife and your life partner are pals."

John was about to answer when he froze. "I work with Mary at the hospital. Which one are you calling my Life Partner?"

Molly just gave him a coy little smile, and despite himself, John felt a wave of affection for her.

"I read a study once, on people who lose family members and basically adopt people who fill the roles." Molly said finally. "They lose their father, and they suddenly become close friends with a father figure. They don't even know that they're doing it, but the majority of people find what they need."

"And I needed a warzone?" John asked sickly. "So when I couldn't have a war I picked Sherlock Holmes?" He didn't say the next part out loud, but to himself he completed the thought. _And when I didn't have Sherlock for two years, I chose Mary... even when I didn't know what I was doing._

_"You __did__ see." Mary had said. _

John pushed her memory away. "Does that make me a... bad person?"

Molly was unaware of this whole internal monologue. "John, I'll be honest. Until he came back, I thought I was sick in the head." Molly confessed. John got the impression she wanted to tell someone for a long time. "Everyone always called him a psycho, and it wasn't hard to see why. But I was mad for him. Crushing like a teenager on a crazy person. The first impression you get from him is not wrong. Impressive, cold, brilliant, exciting, and totally without moral restraint of any kind." She reached down to her backpack and pulled out a copy of the Sun Times. "Just ask your Maid of Honor."

"Yep. She was pissed as hell, and so was I when I found out." John nodded. "But that's my point. She was drawn to him too, but he was acting like he was... capable of love, just to use her."

"Reminds you of Moriarty with me?" Molly guessed. "Is that what this little coffee date is about? You saw the headline and wondered if I'd be feeling the worst sort of nostalgia?"

John didn't answer that. He was ashamed to realize that he hadn't noticed the similarity at all, but if Molly thought so, then so much the better.

"Sherlock isn't Moriarty." Molly said with certainty. "John, any time Sherlock needed something from me, no matter how hard I put my foot down, all he would have to do was ask about my choice in lipstick, and I'd follow him around like a puppy all over again. There were moments I couldn't really tell a difference between them, but he's not Moriarty. I know that now."

Despite himself, he had to ask. "How?"

"I told you. When he came back." Molly nodded. "His first day back, he... thanked me. He's never said the words 'Thank You' in his life. But he took the time to make me feel special. And then there was that wedding toast."

And John found himself smiling. "Yeah. Took me by surprise too."

"Took the whole room by surprise." Molly nodded. "You think nothing we do affects him? You think we're still just toys for that brain of his to play with... but we're not. At your wedding? Janine ditched him to score with someone because she knew Sherlock was... whatever Sherlock is. I saw him during that first dance, John. He was lonely."

"Lonely?" John repeated the word blankly.

Molly nodded. "Took me by surprise too. I didn't realize that someone like Sherlock could feel love, or sadness, or loneliness, but he saw you with Mary, and he was suddenly all these things."

_Sociopaths can need love too._ John thought. _So, am I thinking that about my best friend, or about my wife?_

"Everybody's something." Molly countered. "In specific, scientific terms, a sociopath is someone who knows right from wrong; they simply don't care. But if Lucifer can weep and Sherlock can suddenly find himself redeemed by friendship; then maybe there's hope yet. And if it helps, I don't believe that just because you can care about that magnificent bastard it makes you a bad person or sick in the head." She gave him that sad little smile again. "Because if you are, then so am I."

They sat quietly for a while then, sipping their coffee.

John pulled the USB stick out of his pocket. All the dark dirty secrets of his wife were on it.

"What's that?" Molly asked with interest. "A new case?"

John hesitated. "No. An old one." He put it away. "I had hoped to get your opinion on it, but I think I just did."

"Glad to help." Molly wasn't fussed. "Maybe sometime you'll tell me exactly what it was I did."

"Maybe." He almost laughed.

"So, you and Mary have any plans for the holiday?" Molly changed the subject to something lighter.

"We managed to bully Sherlock into going home to his parents for the holiday. Or he bullied us, I'm not sure." John offered. "But he would only go if Mary and I went with him."

"Wow." Molly was impressed. "I never really pictured Sherlock as having a mother."

"I know." John nodded. "I was stunned too. They're so... "

"...normal." Molly offered with a smile.

"Mary was all for going. They have a nice spot in the country, apparently." John drained the last of his coffee. "You?"

"I usually work during the holidays. Don't know if it's all the eggnog, or all the happy families crammed into one house each; but there's usually a lot to do in a hospital or a morgue during this time of year." Molly finished her drink too. "I like to let the others go home to their families. Mrs Hudson had offered to have me over, I thought I might pop in and look after her a bit." Molly's eyes twinkled. "She has the wildest family photo albums to show off."

"So I'm learning." John grimaced.

"So. Your first Christmas Dinner at the Holmes'." Molly couldn't help the smile. "How very domestic. Just you, and the missus, and your wife, and the In Laws."

She was teasing him, so John didn't mind. It was almost comforting after the heavy conversation. "And Mycroft. He'll be there too."

Molly cracked up. The two of them laughed for a while.

"Thank you for this." Molly said after a while. "It was nice to have a chance to sit and chat with someone sane." She was going to say more when her pager beeped. She checked it. "Multiple homicide at St Katherine's Hospital. Including all their Morgue staff." She read, still smiling. "Seems I have plans tonight after all. Merry Christmas."

"Fa-la-lah-la-la-la." John commented, deadpan as she headed out. _Someone sane. Right._

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**AN**: _Read and Review_


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